


Of Love & War

by Dexterous_Sinistrous



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece & Rome, Alternate Universe - Ares & Aphrodite, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Blood and Violence, Discussion of Abortion, God of love Stiles, God of war Derek, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:48:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24156889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dexterous_Sinistrous/pseuds/Dexterous_Sinistrous
Summary: “Why? Why can’t I have what the others have? I don’t want this.”He wanted the flowers and festive wine; the vows of chastity and marriage. He wanted the menageries of animals that were given sanctuary in the temples of other gods. He did not want blood or pain. He did not want the fear he had seen in the animal’s eyes.“War is an ugly thing when humans have nothing to respect. You will be that rallying point that brings stability to the chaos.”Derek clenched his eyes shut, knowing that he’d never have a moment’s peace if his life was to glorify such carnage.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 52
Kudos: 731





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> It's my birthday and I wanted to give you all something I've been working on. This has been a WIP for years and had finally come together in the most excellent way. I hope you enjoy this shamelessly selfish use of my Classics degree, and all the gayness.
> 
> I give you a cheat sheet/reference list at the end to help you with sorting who is which god. Some will make their appearance in the next chapter.

Derek would never understand humans.

They were fragile yet petty things, constantly fighting over fleeting possessions. They held such contempt in their hearts that it was only natural for a dark emotion to brew inside them. There was a desire for war, one making the need for a god strong enough to harness that raw emotion a necessity.

Derek was only a child when his mother brought him down to earth, close enough to observe the humans that would come to worship him. He was perplexed as he stayed by his mother’s side, watching as the humans dedicated objects and creatures of all exotic origins. He faintly smiled when he saw the bull being led towards the altar, lavishly decorated in flowers and ornate jewels attached to its horns. He had heard how bulls were once sacred to his father, their image and very being protected by his father’s followers. He was proud to have such an animal now given to him.

Derek was confused at first, but then the horror of reality sunk deep in his stomach when he saw the humans brandishing a ceremonial dagger meant for sacrifices. He squeezed his eyes shut when one of the humans pressed the dagger to the bull’s throat. But he couldn’t shut out the noise the bull made when the human cut deep into its throat. He was trembling beside his mother when Talia took a firm hold of his chin.

“Open your eyes, Derek,” Talia softly instructed him.

Derek hesitated, knowing that she was turning his head towards the scene before him. “I don’t want to,” he weakly explained.

“You have to,” Talia answered.

Derek knew he had to listen to his mother. He slowly opened his eyes, seeing the image it all made before him.

The bull had been situated on the altar, its life fading from its body as blood spilled out over the ornate pedestal the humans had forced it onto. The blood pooled, the flowers around the altar’s steps were drowning in the crimson liquid.

Derek hated it.

“This is how humans show their faith and respect to us,” Talia explained to Derek, her eyes looking to Derek as she watched him. “Without their belief in us, we would fade away all together.”

Derek bit his bottom lip to keep it from trembling. He sniffled some, trying to keep back his tears as he watched the life drain from the bull’s eyes. “Why? Why can’t I have what the others have?” He questioned. “I don’t want this.”

He wanted the flowers and festive wine; the vows of chastity and marriage. He wanted the menageries of animals that were given sanctuary in the temples of other gods. He did not want blood or pain. He did not want the fear he had seen in the animal’s eyes.

Talia frowned at Derek’s words. “Because it’s not in our place to demand special treatment for our duties.”

Derek wiped the back of his hand across his eyes, pushing his tears away.

“War is an ugly thing when humans have nothing to respect,” Talia continued. “You will be that rallying point that brings stability to the chaos.” She waited for Derek to turn away from the altar all together. “The lives of your sacrifices will give you the power to spare others. It’s the laws of exchange that we all must live by.”

Derek clenched his eyes shut, knowing that he’d never have a moment’s peace if his life was to glorify such carnage.

~*~

Derek wasn’t looking at the man as he spoke, uninterested in the human’s boisterous attempts to impress him. He was used to warlords having such egos. He slowly turned to look at the women that were herded into his temple, practically tossed onto the marbled ground. He wondered if this was the normal sacrifice for humans to give now. He turned back to look at Boyd, a slight arch in his eyebrow asking the silent question of whether this was the outcome of yet another moron seeking glory.

Boyd faintly smirked, shaking his head as he waited for Derek to answer.

“I care not for your voice,” Derek cut the man’s words off as he climbed the steps to his throne on the altar. “Your very presence irritates me,” he stated in a dismissive tone. “Leave and pray that I have a change in mind should you actually try and succeed in your endeavors.”

The man was about to counter when the temple’s torches burst with engulfed flames.

“I suggest you leave with your head while I still allow you to keep it,” Derek lowly uttered, not looking at the man. “Leave the girls,” he instructed as an afterthought when he saw some of the men try to grab them. “They’re mine now.”

Derek waited for the men to leave as he sighed, allowing his body to lounge in his throne. He turned his head to look at the cowering girls before looking at Boyd. He could hear their thoughts racing with prayers to different gods, most of them focusing on Allison, begging for her protection. He could hear the horrors of their past, how their families had willingly given them up to the horde of war lords. “Boyd,” he loudly started, an attempt to drown out the chorus of pleas coming from the girls. “Escort them to the Huntress’s temple,” he instructed his general. “Tell her they are gifts—handmaidens as a thanks for her assistance in this past winter’s war.”

Boyd saluted Derek, as was expected for a god, his hand pressing over his heart as he bowed respectfully.

Derek dismissed him, turning away from the young women as they offered a small prayer of thanks. He slouched in the ornate chair once he was alone. He was exhausted with the humans that flocked to him—he wished he could force them away, despite his mother’s cautionary words ringing in his ears. He knew he needed their prayers to keep from fading, as any god did. But their prayers were empty of devotion, filled with fear and anger.

With the hundreds of years Derek dedicated to his task, he found no reprieve. He watched as humans fought one another for the most senseless things. He never cared for the squabbling or the pettiness. He gave thanks that his position allowed him to avoid the gatherings on mount Olympus, feigning the importance of his presence in some ensuing battle.

Derek leaned his head against his hand, looking out over his temple. He wondered when he allowed it to be decorated in such macabre colors and tones. He noticed how dark the temple always was, despite the open windows covered by the blood-colored drapes. His gaze landed on the skull of the bull hanging above the temple’s entrance. He couldn’t forget the bull’s sacrifice, the moment being seared in his memory, despite the centuries past.

The temple was dark, devoid of life as it praised death. It made Derek scoff.

How could war be anything different?

~*~

Stiles watched the woman prostrating before the temple’s small figurine on the pedestal. He listened to her prayer, a small frown spreading across his face. He shook his head, pulling on Peter’s hand in earnest. “I don’t—no, I don’t want to listen anymore.” He pushed his face into Peter’s side, hiding from the image in front of him.

“We have to listen,” Peter simply explained, moving to kneel beside Stiles. “You remember what your mama said, correct?”

Stiles reluctantly nodded. “I need to give love a purpose,” he softly mimicked his mother’s words. He remembered how she disappeared—no temple or humans to mourn her passing, only Stiles and his father.

“You’re not just meant to give it a purpose, Stiles,” Peter calmly stated as he wiped away one of Stiles’ tears. “You are the very embodiment of love—humans know your parents to be one of the purest forms of a loving union, and you happen to be the result of that.”

Stiles nodded, feeling the small flower crown adorning his head move with the motion. “She doesn’t love her husband,” he softly confessed, gesturing towards the woman who was praying.

“He’s been away. At war,” Peter offered. “It scares her that he will come back, and find that her belly has swollen with impossible life.” He could hear the heartbeat of the woman’s baby, deep inside her womb.

“He’s a mean man,” Stiles faintly uttered, feeling the dread and terror the woman felt at just the thought of her husband returning.

“I cannot always grant marriages to those in love,” Peter began to explain as he took the necessary steps closer to the woman, knowing that she still couldn’t see him or Stiles. “But when I listen to their prayers, it makes it easier for me to decide how to answer them.” He looked at Stiles. “There are some prayers you won’t be able to answer, Stiles. Sometimes, the world is cruel, and there is nothing we can do to change it. However, we can help them find a sense of calm—a small blessing to help their lives be a little easier.”

Stiles watched as Peter softly touched the woman’s shoulder to steady himself. He leaned forward, catching sight of Peter’s hand moving to touch low on the woman’s stomach—where the heartbeat was coming from.

“You created a life I know you love, to be born into a cradle of hate,” Peter calmly whispered to the woman. “You’ve come here, every dawn for a fortnight, praying that I answer your prayers—and I can give you only this.”

The woman cried out in pain, her body hunching together as she tried to even out her labored breathing. She spoke words of thanks to Peter’s statue, having experienced this pain before, and knowing what was happening.

A miscarriage.

“If she loved the man who gave her this child, why does she want it gone?” Stiles asked in confusion.

Peter shook his head. “She didn’t love him,” he explained. “With her husband gone, she relies on what little coin he sends back from war—and what little he makes is almost gone once he’s done drinking it away.” His brows creased in anger. “She has children to care for, and did what she had to. The man who did this didn’t even pay her in full.”

Stiles saw the tears in the woman’s eyes, seeing them for what they were—relief.

~*~

Stiles hummed to himself, a smile on his lips as he pruned the flowers. He gently picked the wilted petals, scattering them on the ground of the menagerie. He smiled when the song birds fluttered by his head, catching his attention as they swooped together. He startled when he heard a loud crash come from within the temple. He left the flowers behind as he went to investigate the noise. His steps faltered when he heard an even louder crash, something pulling tight in his chest. He felt as if something was taken—something he held intimately was stolen.

Stiles ran to the temple, his bare feet slapping against the marble steps as he rushed inside. He wasn’t surprised to find the perpetrators gone, running away the moment they got what they wanted.

The altars were defiled, large basins upturned and scattered across the marble floor. There was paint splashed on the walls and even the statue meant to depict Stiles’ form to the mortals seeking his favor. But what cut deepest was the image of his mother’s toppled statue.

The statue’s head had broken off, her image completely destroyed—her diadem missing from where it had been embedded in the marble of her hair.

~*~

“Where did you get that?” Derek demanded, gesturing towards the diadem. He had recognized it immediately. He was on the brink of becoming a teenager when he first saw it, a gift given to Claudia by John on their wedding day.

The diadem itself had been a sacred item that now was housed in the main temple dedicated to Stiles. And if this was in fact the same diadem, it meant that the foolish mortal before Derek had dared to desecrate another god’s temple.

And not just any god—but the god of love. Stiles was by far the most beloved of the gods, but this act showed that someone had the gall to disrespect him with such a theft.

Derek was furious.

“Get out of my sight,” Derek angrily demanded at the mortal, the danger in his voice forewarning should the man resist such a command. “Leave the diadem and flee for your life, you fool.” He ignored the man’s escape, descending the steps to pick up the diadem with more care than the man had thrown it.

“Should I let him go?” Boyd asked, knowing Derek yelled at the man to leave for his own sake. He had witnessed Derek’s untapped anger only once before. He would count the man lucky if Derek only wanted his head.

“Track him,” Derek roughly answered as he ran his fingertips over the gems nestled into the metal of the diadem.

“Of course,” Boyd replied, saluting Derek before leaving the god to his solace.

Derek closed his eyes, focusing his energy on envisioning Stiles’ temple, recalling its location from memory alone.

~*~

The priestess was hard at work picking up the overturned basins and pulling the scorched drapes from the walls. She attempted to erase all signs of the invaders, wishing she could have done something to help her god.

Derek walked into the temple without an announcement of any kind. He calmly took in his surroundings, judging the damage done. His anger was flaring up again now that he saw the desecration for himself.

“Deus,” the priestess whispered in shock when she noticed Derek. She dropped the things in her hands as she prostrated before Derek.

“Where is he?” Derek simply asked without looking at the woman.

“He is with his mother’s statue,” the priestess explained. “He wouldn’t take our help, deus.”

“No, he wouldn’t,” Derek answered. He sidestepped the woman, walking by her to get into the menagerie, knowing what its inner sanctums held.

The priestess remained still, the ghostly touch of Derek’s cape brushed against her arm.

And it was agony.

It was as if a hot brand had touched her, not at all like the calm warmth her god gave her with his lightest of touches. She wondered how the god of war had managed to have any followers at all with a touch so cruel.

Derek followed into the part of the temple that had been reserved for priests and priestesses, knowing that the tears he heard weren’t coming from the menagerie. He tried to pretend that he didn’t see the way Stiles’ birds parted to take a wide berth of him.

The altar to Claudia had been destroyed. The statue’s head broke off when the large marble fell off balance and toppled to the ground. The arms were shattered into large, disarrayed pieces. Her form was unrecognizable.

Stiles was fixing the small altar to his mother, the one place that hadn’t been badly damaged. He sniffled some as he righted the incense and arranged the offering bowl correctly.

“Stiles,” Derek dared to utter his name.

Stiles quickly spun around, looking at Derek through his tears. His tears turned from sorrow to anger at the sight of the other god. “What are you doing here?” He demanded. “Come to look at their handiwork? To see what they’ve done in your name?” He angrily turned his back on Derek. “You’re not welcome here, Derek.”

A hot iron ignited in Derek’s chest at Stiles’ words. It was a minor inconvenience that would continue to grow until Derek would be forced to leave Stiles’ sanctum.

“I gave them no such order,” Derek explained, taking the steps closer to Stiles despite the pain. He winced when a sharpness stabbed into his chest—that one hurt more than expected. “The human thought he could gain recognition from me for stealing something valued from … from another god.”

“From me,” Stiles snapped at Derek, turning a glare on him.

“Stiles,” Derek partially winced. “You know I don’t think of you differently—I never have,” he uttered, reaching his hand out to offer Stiles the diadem.

Stiles looked surprised to see that Derek had the jeweled crown. He took the diadem with care, holding it close to his chest.

“Stiles, please,” Derek plainly started, gesturing towards his chest—exactly where Stiles’ curse worked hard to pain Derek until he left the temple.

“You’re welcome in my temple,” Stiles quickly stated, as if he had forgotten that he cursed Derek. He turned his attentions toward the altar, laying the diadem next to the sacrificial bowl.

Derek massaged his chest, aware of the pain fading. He moved to stand beside Stiles, looking over his shoulder to inspect the small altar.

Stiles frowned as he stared at the altar. “Her likeness is gone,” he softly stated. “Now no one will remember her.”

“We remember her,” Derek corrected Stiles. “That’s what is important now.”

Stiles turned to look at Derek, a fond smile on his lips. He closed his eyes as he concentrated on the likeness of the humans. “Did you punish them?” He looked at Derek.

Derek saw the uncharacteristic fire in Stiles’ eyes. He wasn’t a fool—he knew Stiles wasn’t the fragile creature mortals assumed he was.

Stiles was often depicted in a hypersexualized way. His body was on display in statues and drawings done of him. He usually was bared nude in those depictions, many mortals believing the god of love to be a sex crazed fiend who tempted the most pure of creatures.

But Stiles was more than his namesake. He gave a haven for those fleeing loveless marriages that Peter couldn’t prevent. He offered a home to those left destitute, betrayed by a lover in the most vile of ways.

Stiles had a darker side, despite his gentleness—and that was what Derek truly admired about him. Derek would even dare to say that he loved it about Stiles.

“Boyd is tracking them,” Derek answered Stiles’ question. “I didn’t trust myself not to burn them alive,” he offered in explanation.

Stiles hesitated before nodding.

“They’ll be punished for this,” Derek stated as he took a step towards Stiles. “I promise you that.”

Stiles looked at Derek, faintly nodding his head once more. “Thank you,” he offered in gratitude.

~*~

Derek commanded the men to bring tribute to Stiles’ temple for a year. He ordered that they bring lavish gifts befitting a god of Stiles’ stature—to show him the respect they robbed him of.

And then a strange thing began to occur.

Stiles started to visit Derek’s temple. It happened often enough for even Boyd to comment on the frequency.

Boyd would bow in respect to Stiles, asking Derek if he should depart—as was expected of a mortal when two gods convened.

Stiles would smile at Boyd and thank him before turning his sights to Derek.

Derek recognized the mischievousness in Stiles’ smile, and almost wanted to beg Boyd to stay. He never did, though.

Stiles began redecorating Derek’s temple, in small measures at first.

Plants began to hang off the walls, vines wrapping up around the columns as they prospered. The crimson curtains still hung from the walls, but were rearranged to allow light into the rooms.

Derek didn’t appear to mind the changes, never saying anything as he watched Stiles sing to himself as he pruned the new vegetation. He pretended it didn’t change his mood, despite how happy he felt as of late.

After some time, Stiles brought Derek an unexpected gift.

“What is that?” Derek simply asked, looking at the ball of fluffed fur currently curled up on his throne.

“It’s a wolf pup,” Stiles answered with a smile. He came to stand beside Derek. “She’s one of the tributes brought to me, thanks to you,” he explained. “I know I can’t keep her in the menagerie with the other animals, not once she’s fully grown. And I wouldn’t have the heart to part with her then.” He moved to pick her up, laughing when she licked at his face. “Besides, she reminds me of you.”

Derek arched his eyebrow at Stiles. “I don’t have the time, or the space for a pet, Stiles,” he firmly uttered.

“She’ll make you a good companion,” Stiles countered. “For when I’m not here,” he softly added. His gaze was hopeful that Derek would bend.

Derek released an exasperated sigh. “Fine,” he mumbled. “But I’m not taking care of her—she can fend for herself.”

“Don’t be such a sourface,” Stiles countered as he pet the wolf pup. “You have to name her still.”

~*~

Kerbera would happily trot after Derek, her steps quick and energetic as she curiously looked up at him. She would keep within the confines of the temple when not escorting Derek, finding herself entertained by the priests and priestesses when she wasn’t playing fetch with Boyd.

Unsurprisingly, she adored Stiles more than anyone.

Stiles would sit with her in the throne room, running his fingers through Kerbera’s fur as they spent time leisurely awaiting Derek’s return.

“Deus,” Boyd softly addressed Stiles as he prepared to depart. “Will you need anything?”

Stiles looked up at Boyd with a soft smile. “I’ll be alright, Boyd. Nothing Kerbera can’t help me with.”

Boyd smiled as he respectfully bowed to Stiles.

It had been hours before Derek returned.

Stiles was sitting in Derek’s throne, threading flowers through Kerbera’s fur with care. He looked up, a smile on his lips when he saw that it was Derek entering the temple at the odd hour. He moved with ease, watching as Kerbera jumped down from her spot on the throne beside him before running up to Derek.

Kerbera’s pace slowed, a low growl emitting from her when she started to back away from Derek. A whine loudly cracked through the silence before Kerbera ran into another part of the temple.

Derek threw his helmet down on the ground, the metal clank echoing loudly in the empty room. He staggered over to the water basin, his hands gripping the bowl tightly as he leaned over the water.

“Derek,” Stiles softly called his name in concern.

Derek’s shoulders trembled as his grip tightened on the water bowl. He reached a hand into the water, splashing water into his face as he wiped away the blood that had gotten under his helmet. His breath came in a harsh pattern as he tried to calm himself. “What are you doing here?” He gruffly asked, acknowledging Stiles for the first time.

Stiles took a step closer to Derek. “I stayed to see you,” he answered, reaching a hand out to touch Derek’s shoulder.

“Don’t!” Derek almost snapped. “Don’t,” he uttered again, this time in a softer tone. “You’ll get blood on you,” he explained, taking a stumbling step backwards. He took a step to the side, briefly looking at Stiles before turning his face away.

Stiles reached his hand out to turn Derek’s face towards him. “I want to help,” he simply uttered.

Derek pulled his chin out of Stiles’ hold, turning away from him. “I’m fine,” he replied, walking towards the temple’s inner rooms—towards the baths. He unhooked the metal clasps tying his cape to his armor, his hands slipping some as he struggled with them. He didn’t care when the cape dropped into a heap on the tile to be forgotten.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Stiles’ voice firmly stated.

“Get out, Stiles,” Derek tiredly stated, looking out over the baths.

Stiles refused to leave, daring to move towards Derek. His bare feet echoed against the damp tiles of the bath. “Why are you so stubborn?” He demanded. “I only want to help you.”

“I don’t need your help,” Derek angrily stated. He was irritated, the feeling of dirt and blood drying on his skin only made his mood even more foul.

“And why?” Stiles asked. “Because I can’t possibly understand this?”

“Yes!” Derek snapped at Stiles as he turned to look at him.

The temple’s walls darkened with Derek’s temper. The wind billowed against the hanging drapes, flickering the candles and large braziers.

Stiles’ features twisted, his expression darkening as he glowered at Derek.

“You don’t understand what happened,” Derek weakly stated. “You’re the god of love—cherished and revered for your poise and adoration. You don’t know what this is.”

Stiles’ brow crinkled, his expression solemn. “I may be the god of love, but I do not have the luxury of this infinite happiness you all think I have,” he vehemently argued. “I listen daily to prayers from women beaten by their husbands; I listen to prayers for the return of lost children, only to know I can never give them what they want. I listen to lovers who beg for death because of heartbreak. Do not  _ presume  _ that I am flippant and carefree compared to you.” He turned on his heel, marching off to leave the baths behind.

“I am broken, Stiles,” Derek finally said, his voice stern and forced. He looked at Stiles when the other god turned to look back at him. “I watch the senseless death of young children—of crimes committed in the act of war. To be touched by me is  _ agony _ . You don’t know what that’s like—to only give agony with your very touch.”

Stiles’ features softened some before he promptly moved back to Derek. He gently took Derek’s hand in his own, lifting Derek’s palm to touch against his cheek. He pressed his cheek into Derek’s open hand, looking up at Derek. “Do I look like I feel agony?” He asked, his thumb brushing over the calloused skin of Derek’s hand.

“Stiles—”

Stiles pressed a delicate finger against Derek’s lips, silencing his words. “Let me help you wash up,” he softly stated.

Derek tried to shake his head in protest of degrading Stiles to such a filthy task. "You'll dirty your robes," he weakly argued.

Stiles pulled his hand away from Derek, his fingers making easy work of the ties and clasps that held his robes in place. He let his robes fall to the floor, revealing his nude body without a shred of embarrassed modesty. He took a step closer to Derek, watching the other god's eyes lingering on his body.

"No robes to dirty now," Stiles stated as he started to help Derek with the removal of his armor.

Derek was pliant, allowing Stiles to make easy work of his armor. He watched as Stiles placed his armor to the side to be forgotten. He was unsure, until Stiles pulled on his hand, leading him towards the bath.

~*~

Derek watched Stiles as he slept. He pulled the blanket up to Stiles’ shoulder blades when he saw Stiles shiver. His eyes looked to the braziers flanking the entrance to his chamber, willing them to burn a little hotter. His hand fondly traced the curve of Stiles’ shoulder, his eyes tracking the motion.

“Tickles,” Stiles softly mumbled against his pillow. He blinked his eyes open, looking up at Derek with a playful smile on his lips. “Admiring me while I’m asleep?”

“Appreciating the silence,” Derek deadpanned.

Stiles narrowed his gaze, grabbing for one of the strewed about pillows to playfully hit Derek with.

Derek smiled as his arm deflected Stiles’ pillow attack with ease.

“Rude,” Stiles commented, turning in bed to settle on his back. He picked at the blanket, running his fingers through the fur. “Do you regret it?” He shyly asked, his voice twisted with a tinge of uncertainty. He wasn’t convinced that he wanted to know Derek’s answer.

“I could never regret you,” Derek honestly replied. He looked away from Stiles for a moment, attempting to avoid eye contact as he remained silent. “But I regret the stain my name will put on yours.”

Stiles sat up, uncaring when the blankets fell away to reveal more of his body. He reached a hand up to touch Derek’s face, cupping his cheek in the palm of his hand. “Am I not the god of love?” He questioned. “For me to deny you would be to deny who I am.” He pressed a tender kiss to Derek’s lips. “I love you. So there is nothing to tarnish.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek: God of War  
> Stiles: God of Love  
> Papa Stilinski: God of Judgement (revenge plays a heavy part here)  
> Claudia: Goddess of the Hearth (fertility/harvest); (she faded from existence when mankind stopped praying and valuing the hearth)  
> Talia: Goddess of Destruction/Death  
> Derek's father: God of ritual madness/religious ecstasy (Dionysus; he was literally Dionysus--and if you don't know how terrifying Dionysus was, please come to my TED talk about Dionysus and how we all stan this crazy powerful twunk)  
> Peter: God of Marriage (overtook fertility when Claudia passed, a mentor to Stiles)  
> Allison: Goddess of the Hunt  
> Lydia: Goddess of Wisdom (she comes into play next chapter; she acts as Derek's counterpart, and I love their friendship)  
> Kira: Goddess of the Arts


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles turned Derek’s helmet over, inspecting it some.

Derek pressed kisses to Stiles’ bare shoulder, his lips traveling over the span of Stiles’ neck and settling on the nape of his neck.

Stiles faintly laughed when Derek’s beard tickled him. “I used to be afraid of you,” he mused as he turned the helmet to look at him.

Derek paused for a moment, looking at the side of Stiles’ face.

“I think because I never heard you talk,” Stiles elaborated as he turned to look at Derek. “I only ever saw your helmet and armor,” he added.

Derek reached his hand out to the helmet, lifting it in his hand as he gently pulled it from Stiles’ grasp. “I hate this helmet,” he remarked. “What it means when I have to wear it.”

Stiles turned in bed to face Derek, getting a hold on the helmet again. He pulled it away from Derek as he moved to straddle his hips. He purposefully tossed the helmet to the side, uncaring when it clattered against the ground. “You never have to wear it when you’re with me,” he gently stated as he kissed Derek.

~*~

“Why are you here?” Derek asked as he watched his mother inspect his temple.

Talia was quiet as she turned about the temple, her eyes lingering on the bull skull above the temple’s entrance. “You’ve redecorated some,” she noted.

Derek’s gaze narrowed some. “I was getting bored.”

Talia faintly snorted out a small laugh. “Happens after living a few hundred decades.”

Derek crossed his arms over his chest.

“I needed to talk to you about the upcoming war,” Talia finally stated as she looked at her son. “A war to end wars, the humans are calling it.”

Derek grimaced some, shaking his head. “Of course they do.”

“I’m convening the gods,” Talia answered. “Whether you show up or not, I need you to know that no one is to interfere with this war.”

Derek hesitated. “Why would that matter?”

“Because many favorites will be fighting and dying,” Talia explained. “We can’t have infighting—not now. And since it is war, you are charged with keeping a peace among us.”

“Shouldn’t that be your job?” Derek countered. He wasn’t surprised when his mother turned a sharp eye on him.

“You have a lot of your father in you,” Talia suddenly stated as she walked closer to Derek.

“I wouldn’t know,” Derek answered.

Talia placed a hand over one of the clasps of Derek’s cape. “You wear too much of his pride.”

Derek grabbed his mother’s hand in a harsh grip. “And whose fault is that?” He pushed Talia’s hand away from him. “I never wanted this.”

“Doesn’t matter what you want,” Talia answered. “You are war, and you will keep the peace among the gods, or a squabble between us will tear everything all apart.”

Derek looked away from his mother, his gaze turning to look towards the inner sanctum, thoughts of Stiles lingering as he looked forward to seeing him again.

“Be careful with him,” Talia suddenly stated as she lingered by the door.

Derek was surprised by Talia’s words, turning away from his thoughts.

“Beauty can cloud judgement, especially when you don’t use your head,” Talia critically pressed. “And I will never grant you his hand—you’re better than love.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Derek hollowly answered.

Talia shook her head. “Just like your father,” she bitterly stated as she disappeared.

~*~

Stiles pressed a kiss to Derek’s shoulder blade, stretching out over Derek as he cuddled him. “I missed you,” he uttered against the curve between Derek’s shoulders.

“And I missed you,” Derek replied against the pillow. He turned his head to look at Stiles. “I’ll be away for a while,” he explained, just seeing the top of Stiles’ hair. He faintly smiled when he felt Stiles snuffle against him.

“This is about the war, isn’t it?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Ruining the bliss,” Stiles annoyingly stated as he sat up some. He gently guided Derek to turn onto his back. He moved to straddle Derek’s hips, his hands caressing Derek’s arms and shoulders, finally resting on Derek’s chest.

Derek’s hands traveled up Stiles’ thighs, thumbs brushing over the sharp curve of Stiles’ hip bones. He sat up, arms wrapping around Stiles’ waist as he leaned in for a kiss.

“Stay here, with me,” Stiles stated into their kiss. “For the time we have.”

Derek gently nipped Stiles’ lip before pushing in for another kiss, shifting Stiles to better situate them. He used his strength to lift Stiles up, flexing his hips to meet Stiles’.

Stiles laughed out a moan as he leaned forward to press his forehead against Derek’s. He panted out a ragged breath as he closed his eyes. “Yes, please say that’s a yes,” he uttered as he pressed his hand against Derek’s heart.

“Always,” Derek replied.

~*~

Kira sighed as she sprawled herself across the couch, pressing her face into the plush pillow.

“I suppose this one isn’t that bad,” Stiles mused as he picked up the decoration around the small statue that was meant to be dedicated to Kira.

“They’re awful, Stiles,” Kira mumbled into the pillow.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles gently offered, frowning as he started to agree with Kira’s sentiment. He moved over to sit on the couch with Kira. He offered her a sympathetic smile when Kira turned to rest on her back, lifting her legs for Stiles to have room.

“This war will ruin so many lives, and art will be in the back of their minds,” Kira stated as she plopped her feet down onto Stiles’ lap.

Stiles nibbled his lip some as he thought about the way this war would end. “Many will be wishing to return to normal,” he offered. “One can only hope.”

Kira looked at Stiles. “Are you doing alright with tribute?”

Stiles nodded, his eyes looking at the flowers that were collected around the brazier. “I’ve been getting headaches from the prayers,” he explained as he looked over at Kira. “So many have been separated from each other.”

“I’m sorry, Stiles,” Kira frowned.

Stiles shook his head. “I feel much worse for Derek,” he softly spoke.

Kira was quiet for a moment, sitting up some as she leaned her weight back on her elbows. “You’ve gotten close with him, huh?”

Stiles looked down at Kira’s sandals, his brow pinching some. “He’s been good to me,” he offered.

Kira made a slight noise of intrigue before she wiggled her feet some to get Stiles’ attention. She was smiling when he looked at her. “Just  _ good _ ?”

“Kira,” Stiles partially laughed as a soft pink blush took over his features.

“I support you,” Kira mused. “I think you’re cute together,” she sat up, pulling her legs from Stiles as she moved to hug her knees to her chest. “I actually think the whole concept is cute, really—love and war.”

“People can’t know, Kira,” Stiles softly uttered, looking up at Kira.

“I won’t commission a fresco,” Kira deadpanned, poking Stiles’ shoulder to emphasize her sarcasm.

Stiles smiled at his friend. “Thank you,” he sincerely answered.

~*~

Derek froze when he felt the haloed light coming from far off in the distance. His stomach churned when he realized the warmth of the light was more than mundane.

A god. There was a god on the battlefield.

Derek hesitated for a moment before chasing after the disturbance. He wasn’t sure who would be careless enough to not heed the warnings of their elder gods.

There were two humans staying low to the ground, trying to get around the battle. A man and a woman in a poor disguise that did nothing to fool Derek. The man’s armor had traces reminiscent of the royal guard.

Derek approached them, completely startled by the sudden rush of a warmth passing through his chest, a hand grabbing his arm to pull him back.

“Stiles,” Derek weakly uttered, capable of recognizing Stiles without seeing him. He had been counting the days until he would see him again—and this was not the reunion he had imagined.

Stiles allowed his hand to linger on Derek as he moved to stand before him. He looked at Derek, unable to hide his guilt as he stood as a firm barrier between Derek and the couple.

“You don’t know what you’ve done,” Derek cut Stiles’ excuse off.

Stiles’ brow pinched. “He’s a good person,” he argued.

“No one—god or immortal is to interfere,” Derek loudly snapped at him. “Did you not hear a word she said.”

Stiles took a step back, blocking the young man and woman from Derek.

“Get out of the way, Stiles,” Derek tersely uttered.

“No,” Stiles firmly uttered. “I’ve come this far, I’m not going to bend just because I was caught.”

“Stiles,” Derek’s voice broke when he heard the faint cry of a baby.

The woman tried hard to cover the child’s crying as the man wrapped his arms around them protectively. She whispered a soft prayer, one Derek could barely hear, begging for safety.

Derek hated those prayers the most—he rarely was allowed to answer them.

“They’ll disappear into the far cities,” Stiles stated, an evident worry on his brow as he grew uncertain with Derek’s silence if he was going to have to fight for this. “Please, Derek.”

Derek’s hands tightened into fists, anger boiling in his gut when he realized he wanted nothing more than to agree with Stiles in that moment.

Stiles didn’t understand.

How could love understand the hardships of war?

“Go,” Derek ordered, his demeanor growing darker by the moment.

Stiles turned to help the mortals, startling when Derek grabbed his arm.

Derek wordlessly pulled Stiles to follow him, his grip firm on Stiles’ bicep.

“Derek, stop,” Stiles argued as he tried to turn back to the couple.

“You’ve meddled enough,” Derek gruffly stated, knowing that the couple had reached the boundary fine and the soldiers wouldn’t find them.

Stiles drew in a breath, realizing they were in one of his temples. “Why did you do that?” He angrily demanded, turning to look at Derek.

“You will stay here until this is over,” Derek ignored Stiles’ question.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do,” Stiles countered. “I have to make sure they—”

“You’ve done enough!” Derek yelled at him, turning to look at Stiles. “You meddled in a war that we were all instructed to not interfere.”

“They are good people, they have a baby—”

“Do not play me a fool, Stiles,” Derek countered. “I know he is a demi-god.”

Stiles’ features fell some. “She prayed for his safety,” he softly reasoned. “For months, for their baby’s sake, she prayed for him to return. He prayed for a life with them, too. I couldn’t ignore them.”

Derek ran his hand through his hair. “If someone finds out, we could be punished for this.”

“They’re three people, not pushing the battle to turn one way or the other.”

Derek remained silent as he thought of what to do.

Stiles reached a hand up to touch Derek’s arm.

Derek pulled out of Stiles’ reach.

Stiles’ brow furrowed. “You’re mad at me for saving them,” he incredulously uttered.

“You should never have asked me to spare them,” Derek countered as he looked at Stiles. “You’re not stupid, Stiles. You knew I’d give that to you if you asked.”

Stiles opened his mouth to argue, hesitating when he realized Derek had a point.

Derek abruptly left, unable to keep himself lingering in Stiles’ presence any longer.

~*~

Derek watched the couple reach the ships, knowing they’d be safe from the war now that they reached the shores. He wished he could say the same for Stiles, unsure if anyone would piece it together.

“You’re cross,” Lydia noted as she walked around the war table, looking up from the massive map to eye Derek. “More so than usual.”

“I’m tired,” Derek panned as he pulled his eyes up from the war table. “I’m tired of humans.”

Lydia made a noise of understanding. “You should get a companion.”

“I have Boyd,” Derek answered.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Lydia replied with a sly smile. “A lover.”

Derek looked at Lydia.

“It helps,” Lydia replied with a shrug.

“Says the goddess who prides herself in her chastity,” Derek answered.

“I don’t sleep with men,” Lydia countered, moving one of the pieces across the war table. “And that is unfortunately how virginity is measured by our followers.”

Derek snorted in amusement. “I don’t need a lover.”

“You have one,” Lydia stated.

Derek narrowed his gaze at Lydia.

“You’re not discrete,” Lydia reasoned. “You’ve been different.”

“We change, just like the humans,” Derek replied.

“We change because we want to,” Lydia remarked. “And you, god of war, changed for another.”

Derek took a step forward, reaching a hand out to topple over one of the pieces. “Nothing has changed.”

“Everything has,” Lydia countered, looking up at Derek. “Protect him,” she suddenly stated in a low and even tone.

Derek waited for Lydia to reveal her hand even more, not trusting himself to give everything away.

Lydia was smarter than all the gods, and she knew it. She could play a game of whits with her hands tied. The only god to come close was Stiles. But Lydia never underestimated him as the others always did, taking away the edge.

“Many want him,” Lydia stated as she rounded the table to stand beside Derek. “But he chose you to give his  _ chastity _ to. That binds you together in a way no one can break. But jealousy is a cruel thing, and many would squabble and fight over him.”

Derek remained silent.

“You are war,” Lydia concluded. “I’m asking you to keep him safe when that time comes.”

“And why would you ask that?” Derek questioned.

“You’d ask the same of me for Allison’s sake,” Lydia answered, a faint smile on her lips. “Stiles is a beloved cousin, just as Allison is your beloved—,”

“I don’t understand why you’re bringing this up,” Derek curtly cut off Lydia’s words before she could finish the statement.

Derek loved Allison, regardless of everything, but they pretended to tolerate one another around others. He wasn’t surprised Lydia knew, suspecting Allison told her in a moment of vulnerability.

“Besides, nobody gets to be with him without my mother’s approval.”

“Schemers scheme,” Lydia replied.

Derek looked at Lydia with interest. “What have you heard?”

~*~

Stiles quietly entered the temple, hesitating when he realized the building was empty.

Peter’s temple was typically overrun with wronged spouses and jaded lovers, those abused by the ones they loved. The head of Medusa, carved above the entrances of Peter’s temples, was a beacon of protection to those seeking refuge.

Stiles had never seen the temple empty, unsure if it was the war or something even more sinister. He thought of Derek’s warning, and feared something was unfolding without his knowledge. He paused when he heard voices, following them towards the inner sanctum.

“You know you’re always invited,” a male voice offered.

“And you know why I can’t go,” Peter’s voice answered.

“But meeting me in secret is still allowed,” the male voice begrudgingly uttered. “She’s still pissed off?”

“What do you think?” Peter faintly laughed.

“We weren’t married,” the male voice stated, a shift in weight shuffled.

Peter faintly laughed, an incredulous noise echoed through the temple. “You cheated on me, technically,” he remarked.

“You broke up with me,” the man replied.

The sound of two people moving close, the shuffle of robes.

“I’ve never been first choice,” Peter softly spoke.

“You were for me,” the man gently answered.

Stiles took a step back, prepared to leave as he got closer to the entrance.

“Stiles?” Peter’s voice called out to him.

Stiles paused, turning to look at Peter. “I’m sorry,” he began. “I needed to talk to you about—” he cut off his words when he saw the man standing behind Peter. He had seen the man once before, after his mother vanished the god had visited his father and offered condolences.

God of chaos and turmoil, a title befitting the one who embodied religious ecstasy and the ritual madness humans succumbed to in the midst of the mysteries.

Derek’s father.

“Chris was just leaving,” Peter stated as he turned to look at the other god.

Chris shrugged his shoulders, nodding his head in agreement to Peter’s instruction. His shoulder brushed Peter’s as he moved by him. His gaze lingered for a second on Stiles, as if he was seeing him for the first time. He disappeared out the temple’s entrance, leaving Stiles and Peter in a baited silence.

“You wanted to talk about something?” Peter finally pressed.

Stiles turned to look at Peter, bewilderment on his features.

“I’d prefer not to talk about that,” Peter answered Stiles’ unspoken question.

“Derek’s father,” Stiles incredulously stated.

“Apparently you do want to talk about that,” Peter sighed.

“You’ve been my mentor for centuries, and you’ve never mentioned him,” Stiles uttered.

“My sister doesn’t like it to be mentioned,” Peter sharply replied, as if it was the only explanation needed. “Chris is a godly pariah, there wasn’t a need to mention him.”

Stiles frowned. “Doesn’t make it okay.”

“There aren’t many of us,” Peter reluctantly offered. “There are so few options for children.” He kept quiet as his thoughts drifted off before he suddenly shifted uncomfortably. “Talia found her option with Chris.”

Stiles’ features fell. “He meant it,” he suddenly stated.

Peter looked confused by Stiles’ words.

“That you were his first choice,” Stiles elaborated.

Peter looked away from Stiles. “You wanted to talk about something, Stiles,” he forcefully changed the subject.

Stiles released a shaky breath. “I did something bad,” he uttered. “And I wanted your blessing to do something even more drastic.”

Peter looked surprisingly intrigued as he turned back towards Stiles. “That’s an unusual request from you.”

Stiles faintly laughed.

Peter took a step towards Stiles, taking the younger god’s hand in his own. “And what could you need my blessing for?”

Stiles drew in an uneven breath. “I want to get married.”

~*~

Stiles stared out across the menagerie, lost in his thoughts as he twisted his mother’s diadem in his hands. He startled in surprise when Kerbera ran up to him, her tail wagging excitedly as she looked up at him. Stiles forced a small smile as he reached down to pet her with care, steering her away from the menagerie when a few birds caught her attention. He turned to look around them, giving his attention to Derek.

Derek placed a small decorative vase on the altar dedicated to Stiles’ mother, depositing a few wildflowers into it with care.

“Did many die?” Stiles softly asked.

“No,” Derek replied as he finished his small prayer about Claudia. He looked at Stiles, taking a few approaching steps.

Stiles nodded.

Derek reached his hands out to trail over Stiles’ broad shoulders.

“My father asked me to go to Olympus,” Stiles suddenly stated, finally turning to face Derek. “He said it was important, and that all gods were to convene,” he added.

Derek’s lips set into a grim line.

Stiles frowned before hugging Derek. He closed his eyes as he rested his head against Derek’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I didn’t mean to take advantage of you.”

“You didn’t,” Derek replied as he hugged Stiles tightly. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

“I hate this,” Stiles softly stated as he pulled back from Derek. “I wish we could disappear from here.”

“Maybe one day,” Derek replied as he cupped Stiles’ cheek in his hand.

“Marry me,” Stiles earnestly spoke.

Derek seemed surprised by Stiles’ sudden outburst.

“Marry me, and we’ll never have to part again,” Stiles explained. “I’ve wanted to … for a long time, I’ve wanted to be married to you,” he looked at Derek, eyes vulnerable with uncertainty.

“We don’t get to choose that, Stiles,” Derek weakly stated.

“I asked Peter,” Stiles explained. “He granted his permission.”

Derek’s features fell into a vacant expression of confusion. “How can he … ”

“My father will grant permission,” Stiles added, unsure what Derek needed to hear.

“My mother won’t,” Derek finally stated, looking at Stiles. “She has someone else in mind for you.”

Stiles felt as if his stomach was being twisted by a trident. “No,” he argued, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Lydia told me,” Derek explained, his voice heavy with regret when he saw Stiles’ lip tremble. “My mother knows why I let that demigod go,” he gruffly continued. “She knows why I was swayed.”

“This is my fault,” Stiles released a shaky breath.

“You wanted to do the right thing, Stiles,” Derek reassured him. “I made the choice, I’ll tell her to punish me instead.”

“This is punishing you,” Stiles unsteadily countered, a sharp sob cutting his words off. “I’m love,” he stated as tears blurred his eyes. “How can she— I’m love, Derek, I can’t marry someone I don’t—”

Derek pulled Stiles into a tight hug, holding him against his chest as he tried to calm them both. He tried to keep from shaking, knowing it wouldn’t help Stiles in the slightest to know he was falling apart at the seams the moment Lydia told him.

“I won’t,” Stiles stated against the curve of Derek’s throat, his voice muffled some. “I won’t.”

~*~

Derek knew when Lydia showed up, feeling her presence the moment she walked across the threshold of his temple’s entrance. He exited his bed, pressing a lingering kiss to Stiles’ temple before pulling the furs up to cover him. He left the room in silence, moving to speak to Lydia within the throne room.

Lydia was lounging on the throne, inspecting the armrests as she tapped her fingers against the leather. “I must say,” she mused aloud, knowing Derek could hear her despite where he was. “Things have changed around here, but this seems familiar.”

“Do you have a point?” Derek replied as he entered the throne room.

Lydia looked up, her eyes lingering on Derek’s appearance. She had very rarely seen him out of his armor, knowing him to be overwhelmed with the agony to allow himself to relax in the slightest. She clicked her tongue, “Stiles is here, isn’t he?”

Derek didn’t answer Lydia as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Lydia smiled to herself. “You look relaxed.”

“Oh, I’m on edge, trust me,” Derek flatly countered.

“I didn’t tell you what your mother was planning in order to be cruel,” Lydia remarked.

“You need to look over Stiles while on Olympus,” Derek suddenly stated. “You and Kira,” he added.

Lydia arched her eyebrow at Derek. “I don’t have to do anything, Derek,” she replied.

“Weren’t you the one who said about keeping him safe?”

“Perhaps this is keeping him safe from you,” Lydia suddenly cut off Derek’s logic as she stood. She folded her hands in front of her, descending the steps with ease. “We’re in a fragile state,” she explained. “Too many have been fighting over him, and now your mother wants to use him to put you on a tighter leash.”

Derek’s demeanor soured with each word Lydia spoke.

“He will always be a piece on the board,” Lydia elaborated.

“I’m taking him off the board,” Derek sharply stated.

“Then why can’t you protect him while on Olympus?” Lydia pressed, wanting to know the truth.

“Because I have to talk with my father,” Derek gruffly remarked. “And knowing him, it will be impossible to find him.”

Lydia’s features softened some. “Ask Allison,” she finally stated. “She’ll help you—you  _ know  _ she’ll help you.”

Derek was reluctant, despite knowing that Lydia had a point. He knew Allison was the only option he really had.

~*~

Stiles was pacing in the hallway by the main gathering, his robes dragging against the ground. He didn’t care for dressing in lavish garments, opting to wear his least flattering robes for the occasion.

“Son.”

Stiles startled from his thoughts, turning and looking at his father. He remained unquiet as he waited for his father to say something else, not trusting himself to speak.

“You’ve been pacing for a while,” John offered as he folded his arms across his chest.

Stiles nibbled his lip, frowning some. “Did you know?” He finally asked.

John appeared puzzled by Stiles’ question. “Know what?”

Stiles drew in a soft breath, forcing himself to hold onto his resolve. “Did you know that I love Derek?” He looked up at his father as he spoke. He could see the surprise on John’s face. “Does that sway you from forcing me to marry someone I don’t know?”

John looked speechless.

“I can’t … I  _ won’t  _ marry whoever she wants me to,” Stiles almost hissed. “I won’t.”

John pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “This changes things.”

Stiles swallowed the lump in his throat. “I want to marry Derek,” he whispered, determined to keep his voice from traveling through the hall.

John frowned. “Derek’s family would have to permit him,” he started to explain.

“If Peter blesses our marriage, then wouldn’t that mean—”

“Not if Derek’s mother forbids it,” John quickly countered. “The bonds the council made clearly state that a parent must grant permission.”

Stiles looked at his father expectantly.

“You know you have my blessing for whomever you wish to marry,” John answered Stiles’ furrowed brows. “But Talia is serious about this bond.”

“Then she can marry them,” Stiles snapped.

John gave Stiles a look that suggested he keep his tone down. “This bond is meant to erase the anger over your interference with the war.”

Stiles’ anger boiled down to a simmer as he shrunk away from his father some.

“It doesn’t mean that it’s a just bond,” John offered, letting Stiles know he didn’t blame him. He kept silent for a moment as he looked around them to make sure no one else was present.

~*~

“He was here earlier,” Allison offered as she turned about the grove, a frown on her lips when she couldn’t find a trace of her father.

Derek sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t know why I thought he’d bother to stay in one place when I needed him.”

Allison looked at Derek, a tinge of sadness pulling at her features. “Could I do anything?”

Derek shook his head. “Marriage requires a family blessing,” he started.

“I couldn’t give you mine?” Allison inquired.

“My mother will only acknowledge parental blessings,” Derek tiredly uttered as he sat down on one of the stumps. “Sisterly blessings don’t count. Plus, you know how she feels about acknowledging that.”

Allison sighed, moving to sit beside Derek, sharing a part of the stump. “I could help hide you in the woods,” she mused, her shoulder gently bumping against Derek’s.

Derek faintly smiled, brushing his temple against Allison’s shoulder as he drew in a breath. “As inviting as that would be, I know Stiles wants to still see his father.”

Allison leaned her head against Derek’s. “If we all stood up to her,” she started to formulate a plan.

“She’s death,” Derek countered. “And I can’t deny that I haven’t thought about it, but she is still my mother.”

“Sorry,” Allison simply answered, her voice lacking complete sympathy. “She’s never liked me, so I can’t say I would miss her.”

“She hates father,” Derek offered as he lifted his head, looking at Allison. “I think she only ever wanted an heir,” he finally stated, a heaviness shifting from his chest. “I’ve barely seen him, and I think she prefers it that way.”

“Of course she does,” Allison echoed Derek’s sentiment. She looked at Derek. “Do you know what you’re going to do if we can’t find him?”

Derek’s eyes scanning the grove. He sighed in unexpected disappointment at the sight of discarded bowls and emptied amphorae scattered about—as if a party had been long forgotten for better ventures. “I’m the god of war,” he finally stated. “And I’ll start a war to keep Stiles safe.”

Allison pursed her lips some as she contemplated her plan. “Why don’t you just elope?”

~*~

Heliotropes, garden lilies, lilacs, the faintest traces of jasmine petals. Roses were entwined through the small branches that had been twisted and positioned into a crown to lay atop Stiles’ head.

To Derek, especially in this moment, Stiles was more beautiful than any flower.

Stiles brushed his thumb over Derek’s wrist, moving his hands to rest in Derek’s. He smiled at Derek as Peter wrapped the silk cloth around their hands.

~*~

“I won’t give my blessing to this,” Talia firmly stated. “Put it out of your head,” she angrily stated to Derek. She glared down at Stiles when she caught sight of him hiding behind Derek.

“I won’t,” Derek defied. “I’ve done everything you’ve ever asked of me, but I won’t do that.”

Stiles tightened his hold on Derek’s hand.

“He will be married to one of the Western gods—”

“We’re already married,” Stiles stated as he pressed against Derek’s side.

Silence fell across the gods.

“You married without my blessing,” Talia started.

“They had mine,” Peter replied as he walked towards Derek and Stiles. “Considering that marriage is my domain, I figured it was allowed.”

Talia glared at Peter. “You can’t.”

“I gave them my blessing,” John finally stated, catching Talia’s attention away from Peter. “I think it’s fitting,” he offered as his reasoning.

“John,” Talia started in warning, realizing she lost control of the situation.

“I support them,” Allison spoke up before anything else could be said. “And … and I might not be Derek’s parent,” she started, braving to speak despite knowing that Talia was looking at her with more hatred than she had anyone else. “But as his sister, I granted him my blessing.”

“You’re not his sister,” Talia snapped at her. “You’re a bastard.”

“I am a bastard,” Derek sharply cut off Talia’s words. “And she’s my father’s daughter, which makes her my sister.”

Bickering started to grow louder amongst the gods, a sudden rush of outrage at how unorthodox it was.

Stiles tightened his hold on Derek’s hand, standing as close to him as possible. He was petrified someone would try to tear them away from each other.

“Without the blessings of a parent, their marriage isn’t valid.”

A silence hung in the air.

“I blessed them.”

Derek turned to look at the person, his breath catching when he realized it was his father standing next to Peter.

Allison released a sigh of relief.

Stiles looked hopefully at Peter.

“What are you doing here?” Talia demanded to know of Chris, her tone low and annoyed.

“Both fathers blessed the marriage,” Peter simply uttered, as if Chris’ presence was not a shock. “Their marriage is legal and binding in the eyes of our laws and bonds.”

Talia shook her head. “There will be a war with the western gods,” she finally stated, looking at Chris. “But you wouldn’t care about that.”

Chris released a faint sigh. “I haven’t done a whole lot for him,” he explained, as he looked at Derek. “I figured something as simple as my permission was warranted.”

Talia closed her eyes, releasing a heavy breath. “Enjoy your honeymoon,” she finally stated before looking at Stiles and Derek. “A war comes next.”

~*~

War in times of anger, love in times of peace. There was no equilibrium without the other.

Derek would fight those wars, for the peace he felt with Stiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Derek: God of War  
> Stiles: God of Love  
> Papa Stilinski: God of Judgement (revenge plays a heavy part here)  
> Claudia: Goddess of the Hearth (fertility/harvest); (she faded from existence when mankind stopped praying and valuing the hearth)  
> Talia: Goddess of Destruction/Death  
> Derek's father: God of ritual madness/religious ecstasy (Dionysus; he was literally Dionysus--and if you don't know how terrifying Dionysus was, please come to my TED talk about Dionysus and how we all stan this crazy powerful twunk)  
> Peter: God of Marriage (overtook fertility when Claudia passed, a mentor to Stiles)  
> Allison: Goddess of the Hunt  
> Lydia: Goddess of Wisdom (she comes into play next chapter; she acts as Derek's counterpart, and I love their friendship)  
> Kira: Goddess of the Arts


End file.
